Building Work Ethics By Farming

I spent many days of my childhood working on a farm or babysitting. I started most of my first jobs outside of the home about the age of 11. One was picking black raspberries for one neighbor, strawberries and things for another neighbor, and then many things for yet another neighbor. Our community was and still is a farming community.

The first job while picking raspberries, we would tie a rope or wear a belt around our waists with the bucket handle around it to be carried so it freed up both hands to use for picking. It was important to use both hands because you could pick faster and the of course the more you picked, the more money you made! after the end of the day, your hands were stained but the stains eventually wore off. Sometimes bleach water would help bring them back to their normal color.

Another neighbor we mostly helped pick strawberries during the season. We did help periodically to hoe and pick up potatoes during that harvest period, but their family was able to help them most of the time during those months away from strawberry season. This family was a hoot! Down to earth and as simple as it gets! We would have some doozy strawberry fights and I remember one of the workers mixing strawberries with mud for hair shampoos for those near him. Yes, I can say that I have had a strawberry/mud shampoo! I remember another time the neighbor picking us up on the way to pick and stopping right on top of a road kill skunk! See, there were so many workers we usually sat on the back of the tailgate. That stunk!

I learned what cussing was when I worked for another neighbor. I think every other word was a cuss word that came out of their mouths. I picked up the bad habit and thought it was ok. But though they had a bad habit, they were hard workers and would do anything for anyone! I picked peppers and cucumbers mostly; hoed a lot too! They raised popcorn and I remember many days shucking popcorn by hand and even after wearing gloves, my hands were raw for awhile! I was quite young then and only worked a couple years or so until he was accidentally killed. I think that was the first death that impacted me.

After working for this farmer, and still helping the other pick strawberries, I was about 13 or so and started working for another neighbor. These farmers were bigger and more efficient than any of the others I worked for. They also had a dairy and worked many long hard days. We would start the season by planting cabbage plants they would travel to get until years later when they built a greenhouse and planted their own. I remember planting in the snow once or twice, As soon as the weather was fit, it was busy time!

They grew cantaloupes, watermelons, summer and winter squashes, mild and hot peppers, cucumbers, pickles, tomatoes, and more on top of the grain, hay, and straw for the cattle. We hoed those fields of produce to keep the weeds from taking over and wore shirts and whatever we could find as turbines on our heads to protect from the heat which would sometimes get close to 100 degrees. There was one area in a valley where it got so hot you could barely breath. We dreaded that Curly’s bottom as we called it. The man that used to live across the road from that spot was a man I won’t forget. One year he shot his foot off because it hurt so bad.

Here, I fell in love with my boss. As the years passed, I would go to the market with him when they trucked their produce to a warehouse in Louisville. I got to know him and really who he was. He was a friend that really heard my heart. He was a stinker at times but I loved that. On a farm, to break up the monotony of hard work and long days, veggie fights broke out. Some weren’t too bad but others were viscous, His favorite moves were to whistle as he threw something – especially tomatoes – high in the air and as everyone was looking up to make sure it didn’t land on you, he had already launched one directly at his target.